


So you wish to fuck Mr. Raffles...

by orphan_account



Series: Self-Insert Raffles Smut [1]
Category: Raffles (TV 1977), Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: F/M, Het, Historical Inaccuracy, Library Sex, Self-Insert, Smut, Victorian, does this fandom need self-insert smut? no. is this fandom getting it? hell yeah., this is so self-indulgent i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 08:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14492610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You, a young lady with a reputation for impropriety, are attending a ball thrown at your Aunt's country house. You meet Mr. Raffles and the two of you retire to the library for a little mischief.





	So you wish to fuck Mr. Raffles...

You are at a ball at your Aunt’s country house. Conversation hums in the background, your jewelry rests warm against your skin, and the heavy pull of your skirt against your bodice grounds you as you mingle amongst other ladies and gentlemen. One woman you met before wanders over to you and mentions that she thinks your hair looks beautiful braided that way. You thank her and sip at your champagne.

Hours have passed in this room, with the food never seeming to run out and the swish and click of people dancing remaining constant. Several attractive men have asked you to dance, and you accepted, but now you are resting against the wall as you watch the pretty people twirl. An older man standing nearby shoots his cuffs and smiles politely at you.

It is not long before you grow weary of the stuffy ballroom. It is warm in there and you can feel yourself begin to perspire slightly at your temples. Gliding between guests, you make your way out onto the terrace and stand beneath the dark sky. Several other people are out here. You stand against the railing, next to a tall, lithe man about your age or perhaps several years older.

“Good evening,” he says, and smiles at you. He is smoking and lets several rings float out from his curved lips.

You say, “Good evening,” in response and pretend not to watch him.

Several minutes pass in companionable silence as you slowly cool off and exchange the rapid heartbeat of exertion for that of attraction. Neither of you moves from your place and you catch the man looking quickly away from your chest several times. You turn and look when the door opens and the loud ambient noise spills out into the peaceful evening air. A fair young man—one whom you have met before at these functions—walks out and comes up to the man beside you. This second man, his name is Manders, spots you standing and smiles.

“Ah, good evening, Miss ___,” he says, bowing slightly. “Might I introduce you to my friend here, Mr. Raffles?”

“Of course,” you say, and offer your hand. “It is a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Mr. Raffles murmurs, and kisses your hand.

“Raffles, this is Miss ___. She’s the niece of the hostess.”

A strange light enters Mr. Raffles’s eyes when he hears of your relationship to your Aunt. Perhaps he has heard of you through those dark channels of impropriety?

“Oh? Do you live near here?”

“No,” you say. “I live in London with my sister. I am only down in the country for the ball.”

Mr. Raffles smiles and says something generally polite and pleasant and you catch his eyes flickering down to your chest again. Mr. Manders seems to notice this. He appears at once vexed and excited, and you wonder whether Mr. Raffles has a lady he is courting up in London and should be favoring over you to make Mr. Manders behave thus.

A breeze blows past and you shiver involuntarily.

“Do forgive me, Miss ___, for my negligence,” Mr. Raffles says. “I had not noticed the chill. Shall we continue this conversation inside?”

You agree and he takes your elbow, leading you back into the ballroom. Mr. Manders does not follow.

“Might I have this dance, Miss ___?” Mr. Raffles asks, and you accept. He takes you by the waist and you waltz gracefully around the room, spotting several of your friends spinning around the floor. Mr. Raffles’s hands are firm and slender where they touch you and he leads with an agility not often seen in men of your acquaintance. You are, to say the least, set a-flutter.

The music is not long enough for your fantasies, though, and all too soon you find yourself standing, untouched, beside the wall. You expect Mr. Raffles to pay his respects and find another young lady to dance with, but, to your surprise, he remains.

You can feel a slight tension as he says in a low voice, “I hope you will not think it gauche of me, Miss ___, but might I invite you to follow me into another room?”

“Not at all, Mr. Raffles,” you breathe. “Lead, and I shall follow.”

He favors you with a smirk, then, that speaks of mischief and dark possibility. You are thrilled. No one takes notice as you exit through an adjourning door and follow Mr. Raffles down a wood-paneled hall to the empty library. Every lesson on etiquette your mother has ever taught you and every stern glance your Aunt has ever cast all disappear when you look into Mr. Raffles’s bright eyes glittering as they are in this dark, solitary place. You know that even to be caught with him here would damage your reputation. Every progressing second brings you closer to absolute ruin! But, oh—the little thrill it rings down your core when he shuts the heavy door behind you!

You turn around, taking in the familiar (yet so alien!) scene. The room is empty of other people, yet filled with objects: plush leather and velvet armchairs ring around a tall lit fireplace; bookshelves with glass fronts line the walls; an ornate spiral staircase leads to a second floor. Mr. Raffles comes up behind you.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? I expect your Aunt is fond of reading.”

“She is,” you say. “My uncle bought her the entire collection.”

“How sweet a gesture,” he murmurs, then tilts his dark curls towards you. “It seems an almost intimate place.”

You suddenly are hit with apprehension and pull gently at your fingertips. “I suppose.” You cast a glance at the door.

Mr. Raffles, sensing your discomfort, places a caring hand on your shoulder. “Miss ___,” he asks reassuringly, “would you like to leave?”

You bite your lip. This is your last chance to leave without scandal. But, no, that isn’t really true, is it? Your virtue has been stained already.

Mr. Raffles watches you, his eyes simultaneously challenge and console. Carefully, you remove his hand from your shoulder and hold it between both of yours.

“No,” you say firmly, with what you hope is a mischievous smirk of your own. “I would not.”

“Then I hope you would not mind if I were to kiss you?”

He does not tarry: soon, he is against you, fierce with barely concealed passion and tender with surprising care. You find yourself knocking against one of the bookshelves, the cool glass sliding against your elbow. Your fingers work their way into his hair, mussing the wild curls and pressing at his scalp.

“Oh,” you moan as his lips find your neck. No other lover has known the exact places to press and bite. It is almost shameful how soon you are a flushed mess.

He helps you remove your clothing and jewelry, placing the items semi-neatly atop a nearby table. You pull at his collar and slip the jacket off of his shoulders, reveling in the wiry firmness of his shoulder-blades through the silk of his shirt. Your skirts fall to the floor and his nimble fingers undo the ties of your corset.

It is not long before you stand naked, chilled suddenly and desperate for his warmth. The two of you find your way to a divan placed like the armchairs before the fireplace. Mr. Raffles lays you down and climbs over you, the glow from the fire casting planes of shadow and light on his neck and flank.

His lips find your own again and his tongue flicks at the seam of your mouth. You gasp and suddenly he bites gently at your lower lip. Trembling and writhing in anticipation, you angle your thigh between his and he shudders.

He places soft, wet kisses along your neck, pausing at the soft rise of your breasts. Your chest heaves as he glides his hands up your thighs and under your rump to lift you from the cushions. His chest presses firmly against you and suddenly it is all you can do not to cry out as his length is within you.

Hitherto he had remained calm and composed yet now how his cheeks are flushed! His eyes flutter closed for a moment and he gasps. You press back against him, clawing with your nails along his back as he moves with you rapturously.

“Oh!” you cry in desperation, “Ohh—h!”

Mr. Raffles, somehow still rational, silences you with his mouth. To think of being caught like this! He pulls your knees up higher and aligns himself more beautifully with your own person. The sultry warmth of the fire is nearly stifling now as you sweat and slide together.

He hides his face in your shoulder as you stumble rapidly along to release. The final climactic moment occurs and you both gasp, your eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Panting, Mr. Raffles places one last kiss on your cheek and pulls away.

The two of you redress yourselves carefully and precisely. Any mess made on the divan was disposed of by Mr. Raffles’s handkerchief and all wrinkles in your skirts are smoothed out. The only clue that you were misbehaving is in the faint color that lingers in your cheeks. When you exit the library and return to the ballroom, you find that no one has paid notice to your absence. Mr. Raffles is polite, yet maintains a proper distance and soon you find he has left the room. Your Aunt comes to converse with you and you smile innocently as she offers you a pastry.

Suddenly, her eyes go wide and she clutches the diamonds at her neck. “Oh, my dear, you have lost your jewels!”

**Author's Note:**

> You can't tell me I'm the only one who has ever thought of this.


End file.
